Bride at Briar's Ridge. Margaret Way
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taste?’
‘To be honest, I believe with you I can’t go wrong. You have style. You’ve had time to acquire sophistication on top of your own inherent polish.’
‘You flatter me,’ she said. She put up a hand to remove a gold clasp from her hair, so one side went for a silken slide.
He watched in fascination. Everything about her was just so damned romantic, even exotic. ‘I don’t think so. I’m certainly not trying to.’
‘It’s a bad time,’ she announced, suddenly losing her composure.
‘Not a bad time at all. Please—no more excuses, Daniela. Aldo told me you’re always free at the weekend. Please say you’ll come.’
Again she hesitated. ‘You’ve asked me first?’
He frowned. She seemed to be making some point. ‘Who else?’
‘I really don’t know.’ She shook her head, looking as if she had concerns. ‘You appeared to be getting along very well with Alana’s cousins, Violette and Lilli.’
‘So?’ He gave her another puzzled frown.
‘One of them might be perfect for you,’ she said, really looking into his face. ‘They come from your world—pastoral families, establishment, that kind of thing.’
He sat back, caught in a moment of empathy. ‘I think I’m a lot wiser than that, Daniela. The people I most admire are those who make something of themselves, like you. You have ambition. You’re a fighter. You’re twenty-five. You haven’t stepped back. You’ve stepped forward. I happen to know Violette and Lilli haven’t done a day’s work in their lives. In my book even rich girls have to do something.’
She began toying with one of the wine glasses. ‘Sometimes I’d like to be rich,’ she said with a brittle laugh.
‘Would you do things differently?’
‘What a question!’ She stared away.
‘Riches don’t bring happiness, Daniela. A lot of the time money brings conflict. Anyway, a beautiful young woman like you would find it easy to attract a rich man. He need only see you. Maybe one of them did? Maybe he saw you often? It would be normal for you to have many admirers.’
‘All these questions,’ she said, returning her gaze to him.
‘And no answers,’ he said crisply. ‘Will you come with me tomorrow? I’ll pick you up.’
‘I need to think about it.’ The words implied she wasn’t sure if she wanted to see him again. Only he knew differently.
‘Okay, that’s fine.’ He sat back. ‘I’m not doing anything in particular.’
She started to run a slender finger around the rim of the unused white wine glass, bringing a certain solemnity to it. ‘Tomorrow afternoon,’ she said at last.
‘I’ll pick you up at two?’ His gaze pinned hers.
‘Yes, two is fine.’ She rose with faint agitation, as though if she stayed a moment longer she would change her mind.
At the same time he knew they couldn’t get enough of each other.
Either something wonderful would come of it, or nothing good.
After breakfast at the truly excellent Hunter Valley motel where he was staying, Linc hopped in his car and drove out to Briar’s Ridge.
A foreman, appointed by Guy, had been left in place to oversee the farm until he took over. Guy had told him he could, if he wished, take on this foreman, whose name was George Rankin. In his fifties George was a gentle giant, quiet but affable, who knew what he was about. George had lived in the valley all his life. He was well known and well liked. A bachelor—he said not by choice, that he had lost his sweetheart to someone else—he and his father had worked a small family property until his father had passed away a year before, after which the property had been sold. George had figured he didn’t need much in the way of money, he had enough to see him out, but he quickly found he didn’t like a lot of time on his hands. When Guy had offered him part-time work he had jumped at it, and Guy had subsequently shifted him across to Briar’s Ridge to work the place until it was sold.
From what Linc had seen of George he did propose to keep him on. Full-time, if George were agreeable. George Rankin was a good man to have on the team. There was a bungalow he could have, so George could live on site as a young aboriginal lad did—Buddy. Alana had told him Buddy came with the place. There had been the sweetest plea in her eyes as she’d said it. It was Buddy’s job to look after the stables complex—only two horses remained, but Linc would get more—and generally help out. What had endeared Buddy to Linc was the fact that the young man had taken it upon himself to look after the late Mrs Callaghan’s rose garden. To Linc that seemed like an incredibly nice thing to do. For that reason alone he would have allowed Buddy to stay put, but he had also found Buddy to be hard working and reliable—in other words an asset.
Some of the stock had been sold off. The best of the flock—the remainder—came with the property. Linc had plans to expand every which way, and that was why he had taken on a mortgage: use the bank’s money while he held on to a good part of his own. He would need it. The homestead—not big, but appealing, with a great view of the rural valley from the upstairs verandah—had to be furnished, and the surrounding gardens had been kept under control. But they needed a woman’s hand to work their magic.
When Linc arrived, both George and Buddy were out mustering the woollies, to bring them down into the home paddock. As he looked up to the high ridges he could see their distant figures. The ridges were dominated by the eucalypts—the reason for the marvellous fragrance in the air, a combination of oils and all the dry aromatic scents of the bush. Briar’s Ridge had once been one of the nation’s premier sheep stations. The Denbys—Alana’s family—had been around for ever, since early colonial days. Landed aristocracy with impeccable credentials. His own mother’s side of the family, the Lincolns, were descendants of the old squat-tocracy too, but the Mastermanns, although highly regarded, hadn’t been in that league. It had been a step up for his dad to marry a Lincoln. It had given him the seal of establishment approval.
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